


Scent and Sensibility

by aidaninkling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Bunch of Other Mentions But Nothing Major, Alpha Harry Potter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Best Mom Ever Narcissa, Dirty Talk, Eternally Patient Harry Potter, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Draco Malfoy, Prince Draco Malfoy, Shameless Smut, Smut, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Wow I should stop tagging now, be warned, completely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 20:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidaninkling/pseuds/aidaninkling
Summary: “I don’t care if Potter likes me,” Draco sniffed, coming to terms with his mother’s betrayal, both of his hand in marriage – or mating – and her trust in his likeability. Old lady was obviously losing it. He was adorable.Alternatively: Draco's always known he'd be married off as a trophy omega, but suddenly his mother's trying to make himkingby promising him to somestupidlygood-looking alpha and she just won't stopsmilingat him. Does fate's cruelty know no end?!Smut | ABO | Completely Self-Indulgent Trash





	Scent and Sensibility

**Author's Note:**

> So I felt like writing something silly and self-indulgent and kinda cracky and here it is, kids.
> 
> Consume at your own risk.
> 
> For all my lovely readers also following Stuck and obviously wondering whether I've abandoned it 'cause I'm the worst writer in the world when it comes to consistency, STUCK IS NOT ABANDONED. I have lots of little bits written of the rest of the chapters 'cause I have, like, almost no free time anymore as a postgrad. Great for doing what I love career-wise, less great for writing all the smutty smutty goodness. So it'll probably be released as one huge thank-you-for-sticking-with-this-useless-bitch at some point when I have a vacation again.
> 
> For now, accept this small token of appreciation. The title's absolute rubbish, just enjoy the porn eh.

 

* * *

 

“Harry fucking Potter – Mother, you can’t be _serious_!” Draco cried.

“Language, Draco,” Narcissa replied, not particularly surprised by his outburst if how she continued to sip her chamomile tea was anything to go by.

Of course she wasn’t. She was a smart woman. Had held her own for many years in a court filled with raging alphas with too much testosterone and not enough sense, had managed to rearranged the chess board and turn around a kingdom on the brink of starvation. Had raised a son – not just any son, but an omega son, and whether by choice or not, had borne no alpha to follow up. Traditionally, an omega royal was a prize, nothing more than a bargaining chip to secure alliances between neighboring kingdoms. Pretty, and treasured, but something to give away – the firstborn _alpha_ was to inherit the throne.

Draco had always known he would be married off to some strange alpha with a ton of gold and, if he was lucky, enough concubines to keep him busy while Draco continued to do what he did; read, write, lounge, complain, and be generally beautiful – albeit a bit further from home than usual. His mother had insisted on his complete education, however, uncommon for omega royals – they were but pretty faces. And while Draco certainly found his tutoring in history, agriculture, economics, and sociology insightful and challenging, he had never really understood how his mother seemed to be planning to leave the kingdom to him.

He saw, now, how she did. Of course she wasn’t surprised.

Draco would expect nothing less.

But _still_.

“Mother, the man is a _brute_ – practically _feral_ ,” Draco said, evenly, because he was a _prince_ , and princes did not _whine_.

(He was, of course, whining.)

Narcissa rolled her eyes, which was very unbecoming of a queen, if you asked Draco. “Draco, you know as well as I do that the Potter boy is a very genial young man – if a bit rough around the edges,” she conceded, and Draco snorted (he was done pretending he didn’t), but his mother cut him off before he could snark. “ _And_ in possession of what is widely considered the most valuable land on our borders. You really don’t want him mating some airhead with neighboring land and a title, and posing a threat later down the line.”

“A threat to who?!” Draco exclaimed, “Mother, I’m _omega_ , and Potter’s got no title, as you say – there’s no guarantee the officials will let either of us take the throne if this mating succeeds, and if it doesn’t, I’ve got no hope at ever presiding over this kingdom anyway, so he’s certainly no threat to me!”

“You let your mother take care of the grumpy old alphas,” Narcissa replied coolly, “Paint it how you will, he’s really our best shot. Potter is strong, well-known, well-liked – especially by the people, and that’s important, Draco. You’re not exactly the most amicable of leaders, dear,” Narcissa finished wryly.

Draco gasped. Loudly. “I am _extremely_ loveable.”

“Yes, dear, and I’m sure Potter will find you so,” Narcissa soothed, “and I’m sure the people will find _him_ so.”

“I don’t care if Potter likes me,” Draco sniffed, coming to terms with his mother’s betrayal, both of his hand in marriage – or mating – and her trust in his likeability.

Old lady was obviously losing it. He was _adorable_.

“He’s going to be your alpha, Draco, it’d help if you didn’t despise one another,” Narcissa said, “You’re going to bear his _children_.”

“Child,” Draco corrected stiffly, “Technically he only needs one, so he’ll get his courtesy shag and then he can have his whores keep him happy, thank you very much.”

“Potter has no concubines, I’ve heard,” Narcissa replied, “He’s very loyal.”

“Oh Lord, don’t tell me the man’s a savage _and_ a virgin,” Draco lamented.

“Like you’d know the difference,” Narcissa muttered into her teacup, and Draco’s gasp really was warranted then, he felt, so he put as much shock and horror into it as he could.

“Oh hush now, I’m sure you’ll find him very capable, darling,” Narcissa replied, smiling too deviously for Draco’s liking, derailing any clever retorts he had lined up with: “He’ll be collecting you in about an hour, so you might want to get ready.”

“An hour – Mother!” Draco exclaimed ineffectually, because his own flesh and blood was sending him off to go stay with his uncivilized intended for who knew how long (because no one told him anything in his place) and she was giving him _an hour_.

“It’s just three days, dear, a _courtesy_ visit,” his mother smirked, and Draco certainly didn’t like that she thought she was clever just then, “we’ve been planning it for weeks, but I couldn’t have you try to run away on me with that ever-eager young guard of yours,” she explained, levelling Draco with a glance that made him feel like he was 10 and had just knocked over one of Narcissa’s favorite vases while running around the castle.

“I would never!” his voice sounded too high even to himself, and Draco wrote that one off as a loss.

“My darling, I love you dearly, but you are terribly high maintenance – I fear the Zabini boy would bring you back just as soon as he’d help you escape,” she smiled, “Now hurry on upstairs and make yourself presentable. Your future awaits.”

 

 

“ _Your future awaits_ ,” Draco mocked for the fourth time in the last six minutes, sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed. He had been ready for about twenty minutes, now, having soaked in rose-scented water until his fingers were turning pruny, then dressed in his favorite black button-up, the collar and cuffs ruffled with white trim, showing off his delicate hands – one of his favorite assets – and his fine bone structure to perfection. He finished the ensemble off with some form-fitting black slacks – showing off another of his favorite assets – and leather boots.

He looked fantastic. If he were Potter, he’d want to fuck him.

Not that he wanted Potter to fuck him.

_Fuck_.

Now he sat, cursing his mother and trying to piece together what he knew of Potter in turn while he waited. The party should be there at any moment, but he certainly wasn’t going to go downstairs – he wasn’t going to _wait_ for Potter.

Where anyone could see him, anyway.

A knock sounded at his door, and he counted to five slowly – was this too slowly? – before calling that it was open. A maid scurried in, bowing her head slightly as she informed Draco that the party had arrived and his mother was requesting his presence downstairs.

Draco made sure to walk no faster than was absolutely necessary, but also no slower – he was no slouch, for God’s sake – yet it felt like an eternity before he finally sauntered into the reception room. He had no sooner spotted his parents standing further in with what must be Potter and one of his men before the room spun and Draco had just enough time to drop down into the nearest armchair before squeezing his eyes shut.

_Dear God_.

When he felt his balance return and Draco could trust to open his eyes without falling out of his seat, he was met with the sight of a young man on one knee on the marble floor at his feet. He was broad, strong, and despite his position Draco could tell he’d be tall – taller than Draco, definitely, although that wasn’t too mean a feat – definitely _alpha_ , although his scent gave that away instantly, now that Draco could pinpoint it without falling over.

Coffee, dark chocolate, oak – it was deep, and strong, and Draco wanted to drown in it.

_Well fuck_.

The dark-haired man was gazing at him with concern, now, and Draco thought he ought to probably say something, like _oh hi terribly sorry didn’t mean to scare you not dead hah surprise,_ but his tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth as the brilliant green gaze held his own.

“Draco, darling!” that was his mother’s voice, and he tore his eyes from Handsome Young Alpha to look over at his fretting mother before she keeled over too. “Are you alright?”

He nodded mutely, not quite trusting his voice, but attempting a small smile for his mother’s sake.

“Does this happen often?” Handsome Young Alpha asked, and Draco felt the rich baritone wash over him before he turned back to the man, only to spot the scar. A jagged claw mark, directly above the man’s right eye.

_Oh_.

“No,” Draco grit out, suddenly annoyed. “No need to fret over damaged goods, _Potter_ , I’m not going to drop dead any time soon,” he finished, pushing himself up off the armchair and past his intended.

“ _Draco_ ,” his father admonished, using his hard voice, but Draco had had quite enough experience with alphas trying to subdue him with their _looming_ presence so he simply rolled his eyes while his back was turned to the party, making a show of pouring himself a glass of water at the sideboard.

“I apologize,” that was his mother, speaking to the strangers, he surmised, “It’s been a very exciting day,” she explained, and Draco had to fight to roll his eyes again because _God he wasn’t a five-year-old at the beach, Mother_.

“That’s perfectly alright, Your Majesty,” Potter’s rich baritone supplied oh-so-graciously (Draco started eyeing his father’s cognac with interest at that point), “I’m afraid we must be departing soon, however – the weather’s turning and we can’t risk this trip in a storm,” he finished.

“We understand –” his mother started, but Draco cut her off with a sudden spin. It was _dramatic_.

“Finally, someone recognizing precious cargo when they see it,” he snarked, then realized it sounded like a compliment, and Draco certainly was _not_ complimenting Potter, so he distracted them instead.

“Mother, Father,” he nodded in turn, “It’s been lovely. Remember me as I am now, not for what I certainly am to become in the land of the uncivilized,” he mused, catching Potter’s red-headed cronie throwing his boss a _look_ as Draco kissed his mother goodbye on both cheeks.

“Au revior!” he called, striding over to the large double doors and being blasted instantly with a wall of _cold holy fuck cold_ as the guards pulled them open.

Draco realized then that he’d left his cloak, with fur-lined leather gloves tucked neatly into the pocket, upstairs, in his not-rush to get to Potter.

Shit.

He was just standing in the doorway, biting the inside of his cheek against the cold as he tried to decide between making his dramatic exit and freezing to death or sucking it up and going to fetch his cloak – _death was looking pretty good, to be honest_ – when a comfortable weight settled on his shoulders and _coffeechocolateoak_ hugged him from all sides. Draco had just enough time to glance down at the deep red cloak now shielding him from the harsh outdoors before Potter stepped up next to him and gestured to the carriage waiting patiently on the cobblestone path leading past the front door.

“After you, Your Highness,” he intoned, which was perfectly polite, but he was smiling, and Draco felt like he was being _laughed_ at, so he narrowed his eyes at the man before turning and stomping down the steps, having to concentrate not to trip over the edge of the cloak that hung down to the ground on him. A young beta opened the carriage door for him as he reached it, and he settled in comfortably, the seats plush and soft to the touch, and the carriage well-insulated once the door was shut.

Draco waited for Potter to follow, but Draco could just make out Potter pulling on a black cloak from one of the trunks on the back of the carriage, before mounting an equally black steed, and then they were off, Draco in carriage and Potter on horseback beside.

_Precisely. Savages_.

The last thing Draco saw as the carriage left the drive was his mother standing in the doorway, smiling deviously.

_Crazy old woman_ , he thought, and tried not to bury his nose in the cloak still draped around his shoulders.

 

 

Carriage rides were _boring_.

Draco sighed for what felt like the seventh time in the last ten minutes, having exhausted his to-do list of counting the number of diamond shapes sewn into the ceiling or drafting his next letter to Pansy in his head – _hah_ , that one was going be extra clever, judging by the number of times Draco had made himself snort out loud at his own witticisms. He had so much to tell her.

Usually Pansy would be there to entertain him on long carriage rides – she was the daughter of one of his father’s closest friends, a Duke of some sort, and Draco’s oldest confidant and partner in crime. As just-presented omega nobles they painted the town red together – as red as was appropriate for ones of their stature, maybe more of a pink – in any case, whether it was to local balls or far-off festivals, Pansy was always right there next to him to chat away the wiling hours.

Then she had to go and get _mated_ , Draco thought, scoffing. Not that he was bitter.

(He was, of course, bitter.)

Her mate was a nice enough alpha, a Lord Neville Longbottom of good breeding and coffers more than full enough to see to her every whim (not that her dowry was lacking to begin with). He absolutely adored her, and she him – although he was a bit _vanilla_ for Draco’s tastes, if he were honest.

Draco cast a glance through the window to his left where Potter was riding alongside the carriage, close enough to be reached if Draco needed something, obviously. He cut an imposing figure even in the frigid weather, dark hair and dark cloak and dark horse. He radiated power and presence, and Draco could feel it vibrating under his skin even as he sat sullenly in the carriage, but then Potter turned and waved graciously at some workers tying down last minute tarps over the farming equipment left on the edge of the land in preparation for the storm, and Draco wondered if _he_ was going to be stuck with vanilla too, and pouted.

Nice was nice enough, but Draco was _bored_.

Potter turned as soon as Draco knocked loudly on the carriage window, and he waited for Potter to trot within earshot before he slid the window down into the door. Draco was instantly assaulted by a wave of cold, and he yanked the cloak tighter around himself despite his promises to himself that he wouldn’t.

“How can I help you, Your Highness,” Potter asked politely, and if Draco wasn’t already gritting his teeth against the cold, he would be now.

“Stop that, I know you’re just making fun of me,” he spat, eyes narrowed, because he was onto Potter, and the man should know it.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Potter replied, full-on smiling now, and Draco didn’t know whether to punch him or kiss –

“I’m bored,” he said instead.

“Could I hand you a book from the trunks?” Potter offered, eyes facing forward again as he spoke, and objectively Draco knew the man had to look where he was going, but not objectively _why wasn’t Potter looking at him dammit Draco was the best damn view in this kingdom_.

“I didn’t pack any books,” Draco replied, not knowing whether that was true or not, since he hadn’t packed a trunk in his life, but wanting to rile Potter up anyway.

“I did,” Potter responded, smiling slightly again as he threw a quick glance in Draco’s direction.

“I get sick when I read in moving carriages,” Draco responded smartly, because he did sometimes, he supposed. Maybe. People did, didn’t they?

Potter merely nodded, and Draco sniffed at his lack of response, both because he hated being ignored, and because it was _freezing_. Potter must have heard him, because the next thing he knew a clean white handkerchief was being proffered through the open window. Draco took it, because he was still a man of class, before he noticed that it was in fact _his_ own handkerchief, the _DM_ embroidered into the corner in ivory cotton, and although it now smelled of Potter too, it definitely still carried his own scent.

Alarmed, Draco whipped his head to stare at Potter still trotting calmly next to the carriage.

“Where did you get this?!” he asked, trying not to sound like his hands were shaking.

Potter didn’t turn to look at him as he answered. “Your mother sent it to me some weeks ago,” he explained, “I requested a sample of your scent before I would decide whether or not to agree to the arrangement.”

Draco glanced down at the handkerchief in confusion, then back up at Potter. “Why? This mating is purely political.”

Potter turned ever so slightly to smile at him then; a small, almost sad one, before he answered. “Of course, Your Highness. You should close that window before you catch a cold.”

Draco was left to sit alone in the again-warm carriage, thinking about how Potter had come to fetch him in a storm, bringing a carriage he never intended to ride in, and books he never intended to read.

 

 

The Potter homestead was nothing like Draco had imagined, and he was not too proud to admit it was _beautiful_.

It had started raining by the time the party arrived the next morning – Draco had indulged in a short nap on the way, because he could never sleep properly while travelling, but he knew how long it should take, more or less, because _geography_ – so he had chance only to glimpse the red-brick façade of the manor house through the downpour before they were pulling up before the large oak doors and Potter led him inside with a hand on the small of his back as Draco kept his head down under the thick hood of Potter’s cloak.

(If a shiver ran down his spine and his toes curled in his boots, it was because it was cold, _thankyouverymuch_.)

The foyer was equally as stunning, and Draco was used to opulence, having lived in and visited more castles and palaces and estates than he could count, but the Potter estate was something else. It was tasteful, like very few of the aforementioned residences were – if there was crystal, it was because crystal would look best, not because it looked expensive. The house was obviously newer than most manor houses in the nearby kingdoms, possibly only a generation or two old, but it held its own.

It was a home.

“You must be tired from the trip,” Potter spoke suddenly, and Draco tried not to jump as he was obviously caught staring, turning to face the other man as he gestured to one of the branching staircases before holding out his hand for Draco’s cloak, passing it off to a nearby maid, “I’ll show you to your room and have some breakfast sent up.”

Potter turned and led the way before Draco could say yes or no and Draco wondered why the man wasn’t sending him up with a servant while he got settled himself, why he was showing him around in person, before a portrait displayed in the corridor they were following caught his eye and he slowed to a stop without really meaning to.

At first he had thought it was Potter, the dark-haired man in the painting with the same olive-toned skin and alpha presence, but there was a woman next to him, and Draco felt a sharp pang of something that any other day he might have called jealousy stab through him before he realized it wasn’t Potter at all. The woman had fiery red hair, flowing past her shoulders in waves, but her smile was what stole the show – lively, clever, reaching all the way to her brilliant green eyes.

Draco felt more than heard Potter stop next to him, _coffeechocolateoak_ swirling around him in the silence of the hallway.

“She’s beautiful,” Draco said, because she was.

“I know,” Potter replied, and Draco could hear the smile in his words. “She was a commoner, you know,” he added casually, and Draco turned to watch him, trying not to look too interested because he knew only so much about Potter and the family’s fall-from-nobility wasn’t a story often told anymore. “My father was engaged to another omega; some pretty princess from a nearby kingdom, but he broke it off. He dropped everything, his title, the societal esteem, all of it, for my mother,” Potter finished, still smiling as he gazed at the painting lovingly.

“Why?” Draco asked, quietly, afraid if he spoke any louder the spell would break and he’d never hear the story.

“My father always said he knew the moment he met her,” Potter answered simply, “That her scent was like coming home,” he turned to meet Draco’s gaze, then, “I didn’t really understand what he meant, then.”

Draco didn’t really know what to say to that, and the silence hung in the air thickly as Potter smiled softly at him, and Draco stared right back, feeling like he needed to remind himself to suck air into his lungs because if he didn’t he would just stop, and time would stand still in that moment forever. His lips parted slightly, and Potter’s gaze dropped to them at the movement – probably instinctual, but then it lingered, and Draco could feel heat creeping up the back of his neck, spreading under his skin like hot water under ice, before Potter cleared his throat and turned to the painting again.

Draco tried not to sway where he stood.

“Your room, Your Highness,” Potter gestured again, and Draco replied before he could think.

“Draco,” he said simply.

Potter looked at him sharply, before he smiled again and replied, “Harry,” before turning and continuing his mission down the hallway.

“Harry,” Draco repeated quietly to himself as he followed, as if it were a secret only he knew, and he felt his cheeks heat up again.

 

 

It turns out Draco’s room was Harry’s room, since Harry had decided to take one of the guest rooms for himself while Draco stayed – _I never need much space anyway_ , he had said – and opted to give Draco the room with the best view. And bed.

And _scent_.

Draco had done his best not to breathe too deeply while Harry was in the room, smiling tightly when a pretty omega maid popped past to leave a tray of breakfast pastries and fruit salad, as well as draw a warm bath. The food Draco practically swallowed whole the moment she left – he hadn’t realized just how _hungry_ he was, but judging by the creeping heat settling under his skin, he needed to get clean and get some sleep before he fell over. His muscles felt fatigued, lazy, like he was coming down with flu, but he hadn’t been in the cold long enough, and he was getting _hot_.

He sat down heavily next to the bath as he swirled his fingers through the water, switching on the tap to watch cold water pour in from the spring outside. He needed a cool bath; he needed to _cool down_. When the bathtub was reaching capacity and was nearly completely cold, Draco stood slowly before stripping off his now-grimy clothes and stepping carefully into the tub, lowering himself with a relieved sigh as the water cooled his heated flesh and washed the trip from his skin.

He stayed in the bath as long as he dared before he thought he really _would_ get sick, when his eyelids were drooping to the point he might fall asleep in the bath and drown, before he pulled himself out, towelled off lazily and pulling on the first pair of light cotton pants he could find in his trunk.

Draco practically fell into bed, the covers soft and fluffy as he pulled them to his ears even as he felt sweat start to prickle at the nape of his neck and the small of his back. Burying his face into the first pillow he could find, Draco inhaled _coffeechocolateoak_ , and fell asleep, as if he were at home.

 

 

When Draco awoke, he immediately wished he hadn’t. The covers had been kicked off the bed at some point, obviously much too hot for his current state, and his cotton pants stuck to him with sweat. He kicked them off as well, the thought occurring for a split second that he should be embarrassed about being naked in Harry’s bed, before the notion itself wrenched a moan from his throat and his cock jumped, drawing his attention to his other little problem.

Or not so little problem.

He was rock hard, leaking precum onto his stomach, and when he shifted onto his front, seeking some much needed friction against his aching cock, he felt the slide of slick between his cheeks and realized he has already dripping wet.

He shoved his face into the damp pillow, inhaling _coffeechocolateoak_ mixed with his own scent, something he’d never had to give a name to before, but was now everywhere, mixing with Harry’s own, and he ground down hard into the mattress as he came at the thought.

Draco breathed heavily, unevenly, catching his breath as the fogged clear, and then he realized.

_Oh God. He was in heat_.

It couldn’t be – he wasn’t due for another couple months at best – and even though his two previous heats had been milder (already), less cloying, he knew that he was. He couldn’t be, but he was.

_Oh God_.

Pushing himself off the damp bedsheets, Draco took a look around, trying to orient himself and think of a plan. The curtains were still open, and though it was difficult to tell what time of day it was when the storm still raged, he could tell it was much later than when he had gone to sleep this morning. Nobody had bothered him with lunch, probably under the assumption that he needed the sleep, but someone would get worried if he was unresponsive at supper.

Worried enough to come inside and check on him.

Draco’s heart froze in his throat as he thought back to his previous heats – they’d always seen them coming, locking him away in the far wing of the castle, forbidding alpha guards from entering the wing and even then locking all the doors and windows to stop any from getting in. Just in case one didn’t know how to control themselves.

Draco’s gaze whipped over to the door. He hadn’t locked it.

Standing shakily, he moved over to his still-open trunk, clothes strewn haphazardly around it from his original search for pants. He grabbed the first bit of modesty he could find that didn’t make him feel sick from the thought of how hot it would make him – a flimsy, barely-there dressing gown from the orient, beautifully cut and multi-colored and flowy – and pulled it around himself before rushing over as fast as could and flipping the key on the door.

He let out a deep breath as he tested the handle – locked, he was fine, it was safe, no one would come in. Unless he wanted them to.

Now he just had to wait for Harry.

Draco clenched his teeth tightly as he felt a wave of heat start in his lower belly, sweeping through him bodily as he felt slick running down the inside of his thigh, sinking to the floor as he recited all the reasons he couldn’t go fetch Harry, why he couldn’t go out, why he had to wait –

Draco let out a sob, then, resting his forehead heavily against the cool wood of the door, which did very little to soothe the fire raging under his skin. Every time he breathed, he could smell him, that same scent that had nearly knocked him out a day ago in his parent’s reception room, that had been teasing at the edges of his sanity ever since it had been dropped around his shoulders – that had fuelled his half-formed and mostly incoherent dreams of sweat and skin and slick and _heat_ before the uncomfortable reality had dragged him back out.

_Oh God. He was going to die. Here, slumped against a door, waiting –_

“Draco?”

The call of his name was gentle yet firm, rich honey baritone settling on his tongue as he clenched his eyes shut and tried to breathe.

“ _Yes_ ,” he managed, eventually, the word more of a moan carried on a stolen breath than a coherent response, and for a moment Draco worried Harry hadn’t heard him, but then the alpha spoke again, his voice deeper, with more gravel – almost a growl, scraping against Draco’s insides pleasurably.

“Draco, you’re –” he heard Harry inhale sharply, and Draco’s head lolled against the door – God he _wanted_. “Draco, I’d like to take care of you.”

Draco laughed then, a small, breathy thing, because _yes_ , of course, that’s why he was sitting against a door right now, wasn’t it. Bracing himself with renewed purpose, Draco pulled himself up, fingers slipping against the key once before he got a hold on it and flipped it sharply. When he yanked the door open, Harry took a step forward, almost unconsciously, before he seemed to catch himself and lean heavily against the door frame as he cleared his head.

“God, you’re –” Harry started, before lifting his head, “Draco, do you need anything?”

Draco laughed again, because _duh_ , but he said “ _Yes_ ,” in any case, for Harry’s benefit, because he didn’t seem to _get_ it.

“I can get an omega mai–”

Draco will never know what Harry was offering to get him, because he cut him off with a hand firmly grasped in the front of Harry’s shirt, trying to yank him inside, only Harry was an alpha, and Draco was an omega – an omega drunk off heat, at that – so Draco succeeded only in pulling himself closer to Harry as he stood in the doorway, their chests colliding suddenly. Harry’s arms wrapped around his waist in an instant, anchoring Draco before he could fall backwards at the sudden disorientation, and Draco’s own arms could only snake lazily around Harry’s neck as the alpha leaned down to nose at the scent gland behind his ear.

Harry growled, low, deep, dark, and Draco nearly cried.

_Finally_.

“Harry, _please_ ,” he moaned, so Harry did, moving them both into the room before slamming the door shut behind them and pulling Draco’s gown from his body – it had barely been holding on anyway.

Draco felt Harry’s hands circle his ribcage – they were large, and slightly rough, from riding, and fighting, and working, and Draco moaned at the thought of those hands holding him down, lifting him up, working him open, so he leaned in and nipped at Harry’s jaw, grinding his leaking cock against his alpha’s thigh wantonly, _please, please, please_ –

“Shhh, love, I’ve got you, alright,” Harry growled into the space under his ear, and Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head as he came.

He felt Harry lift him up effortlessly as he revelled in the haze. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the bed, Harry looming over him with one hand rested on either side of Draco’s head. Draco smiled, then, lifting his own arms to wrap around Harry’s neck and pull him closer, but they both felt like limp noodles, and Harry held back slightly, seemingly searching Draco’s eyes for something.

“What is it,” Draco whispered, because he didn’t have time to lie around and wait for Harry to find what he was looking for, he had _priorities_.

“We don’t have to –” Harry started, but Draco cut him off with a low moan.

“Finish that sentence and I’ll cry, Harry, I swear to God,” he whispered.

Harry smiled slightly at that, and that was a good sign, because Harry should always be smiling.

Except when he’s fucking Draco into the bed.

Draco bit his lip, moan caught in his throat and one leg wrapping around Harry’s still-clothed waist at the thought, but he was distracted from his planning/daydreaming by Harry’s teeth scraping along Draco’s shoulder, nipping softly at the tendons where shoulder meets neck, straining as Draco bears his neck for his alpha.

Fire ran through his veins again, and Draco wound his fingers through Harry’s hair as he pulled him up to meet him, licking at Harry’s bottom lip quickly before Harry pressed their lips together properly. Harry kissed like he could do it all day, like his sole purpose was to lick into Draco’s mouth and run his tongue along Draco’s own until he knew just who he belonged to, so Draco caught Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth and nipped hard, because Draco already knew, and Harry had better get on with it.

When Harry pulled back, there was blood welling on his lip, but he merely flicked his tongue across the wound and smiled slowly.

“You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?” he growled, and Draco did his best not to mewl as the rumble sent another wave of fire licking through his abdomen.

_That rather was the idea._

As if reading his mind, Harry’s hands started to roam, Draco almost purring at the sensation of warm skin sliding down his sides, over his hips, one hand curving around each ass cheek and pulling Draco impossibly closer as Harry set about completely ruining him. Draco made a valiant attempt at giving as good as he got, hands gripping fabric and distractedly managing to divest his alpha of his _completely unnecessary_ clothing as said alpha mouthed his way down Draco’s chest, lips and teeth and tongue teasing and nipping and generally driving Draco completely insane before Harry settled between his legs and Draco could do little more than throw his head back and ruin the bedsheets with his nails as Harry sank sharpened canines into the juncture between Draco’s balls and his upper thigh.

“Please, Harry, please, oh God -” Draco was pretty sure he was crying, but how could he _not_ be crying. He felt like he had been set alight and his alpha was just watching him _burn_.

“Alright, love, alright,” was all the warning the omega got before Harry lifted one leg over each shoulder, parted Draco’s cheeks with his thumbs and licked a slow stripe over his swollen entrance. Draco promptly forgot how to breathe, before the air was forced back into his lungs as Harry pressed the tip of his tongue against his hole firmly and slipped inside effortlessly.

“ _Ooooooh_ – fuck!” Any other day Draco would’ve been _mortified_ at the sounds he was making as his alpha ate him out, but Harry was obviously trying to kill him as he slipped a finger inside Draco alongside his tongue, and it was all Draco could do to choke out, “I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to come –”

Harry merely plunged another finger inside him slowly as he trailed his tongue upwards, muttering a quick _“then come, love”_ before crooking his fingers upwards and swallowing Draco’s cock in one go.

Draco’s back arched near painfully, and the world went white.

When he could hear himself think again, hazy colors flitting at the corners of his mind, he could just vaguely make out the sensation of Harry kissing the tip of his cock before moving to hover over his pliant body. Draco reached up blindly, arms curling around Harry’s shoulders as the man mouthed at his collarbones. Draco’s eyes were still blissfully shut, but he could still _feel_ the worry lurking behind each press of his lips, so he muttered a faint _up_ , sighing contentedly at the headrush as Harry wrapped one arm around his waist and lifted them so Draco was resting against him as he sat up on his knees.

“I’ll take care of you, Draco, I promise,” Harry said, almost too softly for the situation as his hands ran lazy patterns over Draco’s exposed back, “But I don’t have to claim you.”

When Draco managed to pry open his eyelids, lips still parted, it was all he could do to look down his nose and not curse Potter into the next dimension. The man looked so righteous, so _good_ – way too fair of heart for someone who Draco was now absolutely sure was _not_ vanilla.

But he was Draco Malfoy and he had had just enough of idiot alphas thinking they get to make all of his decisions for him _thankyouverymuch_.

“Claim me?” Draco breathed, his voice high and curious, as he leaned forward slightly, his chest brushing against Harry’s.

“Yes,” Harry growled, before clearing his throat and continuing softly, “I’ll help you, but as much as _I_ want this–”

“You’re promised to me, Harry,” Draco continued, quietly, inquisitively. “You know that, right?”

“Of course, I agreed, and I’m not going back on that promise Draco, I swear,” Harry replied quickly, not even bothering to pretend his voice wasn’t just gravel and _alpha_ now. Draco didn’t blame him, he wasn’t playing fair.

But neither was Harry.

“Hmmm,” Draco hummed, lolling his head and pressing his lips against the spot beneath Harry’s ear, just above his scent gland, “Yes, you agreed. It’s going to happen,” he spoke, conversationally, and he felt Harry shift beneath him and smiled lazily to himself.

“You’re going to _claim_ me,” Draco whispered then, against his ear, like a secret shared just between the two of them. He felt Harry’s erection twitch then, where it rested against Draco’s inner thigh, and he sank slowly, his breath coming in uneven spurts as he felt the tip brush against his left cheek.

“Knot me, stretch me open like _no one ever has_ ,” Draco almost moaned, this time, as Harry’s fingers tightened around his hips, pinpricks of sharpened nails sending ice cold tendrils up Draco’s overheated spine.

“You’ll fill me up again and again until all I can _think_ is your name, until my throat is raw from begging for more even though I couldn’t _possibly_ take any more,” Draco bit his lip, then, his own fingertips finding purchase in the olive skin of Harry’s biceps as he tried to find his anchor, dangerously close to getting swept away in the tide of heat and the steady growl in Harry’s chest. The alpha hadn’t said a word in ages, and Draco couldn’t see his eyes, but he knew they’d be blood red if he could.

He nearly cried at the thought.

“Until your teeth sink into my neck and the heat slips from my skin when it _takes_ ,” he moaned, nails drawing blood now as he fought to still his hips, to resist the urge to shift just right and sink down on the hardness pressing urgently against his ass, “And you’ll know it’s _your_ pup growing inside of me,” Draco felt a fresh wave of heat sweep through his lower abdomen, and his breath was quick and damp against Harry’s neck as he reached breaking point.

“ _For the love of God, Potter,_ _fuck me_.”

Harry seemed to hardly move a muscle; he lifted Draco slightly before shifting just so and then suddenly Draco was at gravity’s mercy as he felt Harry breach him and Draco sank down on his cock in one long, endless, agonizingly brilliant moment.

By the time his ass had settled against Harry’s upper thighs, Draco thought he might never breath again.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Harry growled just then, the very corners of a smirk evident in his tone, and Draco had just enough time to let out a laugh that was more of a sob as Harry lifted him effortlessly until just the head was spreading him open before letting him sink down again. He felt so full, so _complete_ that he almost couldn’t understand his own need for _more_ , the urge to drive himself down harder with each forceful thrust of Harry’s hips up into him. He cried out as Harry struck a particularly sensitive spot, then continued to hammer the bundle of nerves until Draco was clutching at this shoulders desperately yelling “Harry, Harry, _Harry_ –” before pulling taut and coming untouched.

Harry merely continued to fuck him through it, a deep growl reverberating from Harry’s chest through Draco’s cock where it was pressed between them, lengthening the aftershocks of Draco’s orgasm. This was probably why it was only when Harry grinded his hips against Draco’s harshly that Draco realized it wasn’t just his orgasm that had made Harry feel larger inside him as his muscles contracted.

Harry was knotting him. Draco gasped as he swelled further, his insides stretching around the bulbous base to accommodate Harry, _his alpha_ , even when it felt like he _couldn’t possibly grow any more_ –

“Mine,” Harry growled, leaning forward and nosing at Draco’s scent gland as he continued to thrust upwards sharply even though he could no longer pull out.

“Yes, yes, yes –” Draco chanted as he threw his head back, exposing his neck to Harry, “ _Yours_ , love, Harry, please – knot me, claim me, _oh god_ –”

The knot was pressing insistently against Draco’s prostate now, and he felt so much pleasure it could’ve been pain and he would still be screaming for it, but it was only when Harry sank his teeth into Draco’s scent gland, right where his shoulder met his neck, that he blacked out.

 

 

Draco came to in the same position he had passed out in. He could swear his ears were still ringing faintly, but it was only a matter of minutes for him to orient himself enough to realize that, although Harry seemed to have wiped them both down as much as he was able with what discarded clothing was at hand before leaning back against the pile of cushions against his headboard with Draco snoozing on his chest, his mate was _very much still seated inside him_.

“Evening, Your Highness,” Harry murmured, as if he were simply waiting for Draco to wake up and blush like a goddamn virgin, and Draco was not going to look up but he knew, he _knew_ the fiend was smiling–

“I want a divorce,” Draco deadpanned, and immediately regretted it when Harry chuckled heartily, sending vibrations straight through him, including some very _sensitive_ areas. Draco sat up quickly, finding just another item to add to the long list of _fantastic_ ideas he’s had recently as he felt Harry’s knot shift inside him. He hissed, sensitive and already too close to arousal again.

“Whyyyy,” he whined, at a loss for anything else to do.

“You’ll be thankful when the next wave rolls around,” Harry remarked casually with a grin, and Draco found himself glancing down at his flat stomach without meaning to.

“How do you –” Draco started, but then stopped, because he wasn’t sure he really knew what he was asking.

Harry’s naughty smile turned soft, and he pulled Draco down slowly so he was resting on his chest again, before he spoke. “I don’t, we won’t know until it breaks,” he murmured, apparently not able to resist a teasing, “But I must admit I’m hoping it takes a couple rounds.”

Draco gasped, lifting one hand to smack futilely at his mate’s chest as the brute chuckled.

“I regret this position,” Draco muttered sulkily, but Harry only smiled brilliantly before curling his arms tighter around his mate and stroking his back softly.

“ _Sleep, love_ ,” Harry murmured after a moment, but Draco was out before he could hear it.

 

 

When his mother’s letter arrived two days later, Draco was sitting in bed nibbling on breakfast pastries. Upon opening it, Draco turned so red Harry worriedly asked him if he was choking. (Draco fleetingly lamented the father of his offspring being the type of man to _ask_ someone if they were choking.)

“I’m surrounded by insanity,” he exclaimed, tossing the letter at Harry and choosing instead to focus on his chocolate croissant.

(It was a very good croissant.)

 

 

_Dearest Draco,_

_I trust you are in good health as you read this. I anticipate you are, at this very moment, crafting your own letter regarding your return home; do not fret, we do not anticipate your arrival today. I am certain you have found young Mr Potter most courteous this visit._

_You will also be delighted to know that the rose garden has produced its first bloom in your absence. I know of your fondness for roses, and would certainly be disappointed if we had to host your wedding without them. Just yesterday I was made recipient of the new Sunday best ensemble I commissioned for you last month from Mr Goyle, the tailor. I do believe you’d be quite taken with them – best make use of them before they no longer fit._

_All my love,_

_Your mother_


End file.
